


riposte

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-22
Updated: 2015-10-22
Packaged: 2018-04-27 13:06:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5049721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wish makers are the most powerful magical force in the universe.  Tom Riddle utilizes these powers at his own risk.  He gains the world, immortality and even enslaves Harry with it.  Harry has to bend the universe to gain his freedom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	riposte

**Author's Note:**

> This is sort of a retrofitted original story that got changed into a tom/harry au. Not entirely sure about warnings and pairings for now. The original was very violent, had bdsm, rape, mostly as a plot device. I created this story when i had more violent tendencies which aren't really my thing anymore. There is a big possibility of the warnings and pairings being changed so anyone who is against anything graphic should avoid this story. Otherwise i hope you enjoy!
> 
> Also, this is unbeta-ed. If anyone wants to beta this story that would really help me out.

There is a metal box, encrusted with jewels and engraved expertly with ropey, ornate and delicate designs. It is one-of-a-kind, made with the precision and craftsmanship of a master metalsmith.

The hand that opens the box briefly hovers over the velvet trim interior, before going straight for the handle of the antique Nicolas-Noel Boutet handgun.

The green-eyed man sits hunched before the case for a moment before he lifts the gun. He then inspects it thoroughly, disassembles the parts, cleans them with the thoroughness of a scientist. Skillfully he puts the parts back together to the gun's original form, with a practiced ease of someone who has done this hundred of times before. 

And he has done this hundreds of times before, maybe even thousands. He's stopped counting the moment he lost track of the number. 

So the process is always the same: he puts the gun back in the case, closes the box, then picks up the case by its handle. He then walks through the main hallway of the Riddle manor to get to the west exit that leads to the forest. 

This ritual is so well known throughout the manor that people come to the hallways and corridors to get a glimpse of the man who has become a legend simply due to his alliances with Tom Riddle. He is an entity wrapped in mystery, untouched by politics, only showing up in the rare obligatory social function, and showing up even less in the manor where he lives. So for the bored and curious, they come to see him to indulge in the fantasy, knowing that he will show up. Without fail, the man makes his appearance in the designated time, always wearing the same blank expression on his face, always holding the silver case in his right arm. 

Every time he walks down the corridor, he sees the same expressions from the bystanders who watch his every move. Some of them look surprised, some of them hold a hint of admiration, but there is never a time where he doesn't see the looks of scorn and jealousy. The expressions stay in his memory, but the passage of time has blurred the faces into the same indistinguishable form. And he has no need to recognize anyone anymore, not since anyone who might have his affection in this manor is long but gone. 

He exits through the west doors that slightly hinder him with their heavy weight, and enters the little forest that acts as a boundary between the manor and the cliff that overlooks a large portion of the eastern Scotland. The walk through the forest is not long. And despite the brisk pace he sets for himself, the man arrives at the edge of the cliff without any exertion. 

It is almost dark out, the sky is painted in deep reds and purples, the sun is a large yellow ball retreating into the horizon. The Scottish moor is breathtakingly beautiful at this time, and the man sinks back into old memories that were made at a time when he didn't know there were things he could lose. He indulges himself in emotion and in recollection, melancholy rises in him like a glowing ball inching up his chest. 

When the yellows and the reds fade from the sky, he comes back to himself and forces himself to follow through with his task. He sets the silver case down, opens it and mechanically loads the gun with a single bullet. 

This particular cliff and this particular landscape hold a great deal of significance for him, though the reasons why have always been a lie. Even when the sun is no longer out, the beauty of the landscape still guts him, still pierces him in the same way it did the first time he looked upon it. So for this reason, he keeps his eyes open while he lifts the gun and sticks its cold barrel against his temple. 

It always takes a great deal of gumption to go through with it even though he knows the outcome already. History in this case has always been a good indicator of what's going to happen yet he is compelled to keep on trying. 

He has to mentally prep himself first, tell himself on repeat that he has to go through with it. The anticipation in itself makes his breathing harsher, his mind a little frazzled. But when he does this, the adrenaline pumps him up just enough that he can take a deep breath, and while holding it, he puts all of his focus and mental concentration on forcing the muscles of his trigger finger to obey his will. Just one quick snap would do the trick. 

His mind is reeling and it is after he breathes in and out twice when he is vaguely aware that the trigger finger has not moved. And though none of it surprises him, the conflicting emotions that course through him are always more intense than he expects. He breathes heavily for a while, gazing blindly at the open sky. When the adrenaline dissipates, so do the emotions. And by the time he's done he doesn't know what to feel. 

He makes his way back home.


End file.
